


Deeper and Deeper Still

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Series: Purify Me In Your Muddiest Waters [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Harassment, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Kinky Spelling Bee, Latex, M/M, Protectiveness, Relationship D/s, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: Mostly a lot of humiliation porn, nao with more fetishwear, and also, our heroes play with the edge of one of Tony's kinks to feel out what works.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Purify Me In Your Muddiest Waters [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592644
Comments: 24
Kudos: 219





	Deeper and Deeper Still

**Author's Note:**

> CW: There is a scene with an OC from Tony's past being a dick, and it includes a brief description of a panic attack. You can skip to the first ~*~ if you want to avoid that. Please take care of yourselves.

One of the benefits to having a reputation like Tony’s is that no one really blinks an eye if he shows up at a gay bar and takes turns dancing with his superhero “friends” who are already known to be in a relationship with each other. Sure, they can’t be too obvious about their status as a throuple, but it’s hardly a scandal that Tony’s there or that he wants to dance with men. That’s so 1993. 

On the other hand, the downside of a bar like this is that Tony’s gotten around, recently enough that it’s not impossible he’ll run into a familiar face. They’d even talked about it beforehand, but his warning hadn’t been enough to deter either Steve or Bucky from an evening out. They can be mature, Steve promised. And Tony couldn’t quite resist the thrill of getting down and dirty in public, even with the excuse of “dancing” to give him plausible deniability, so here they are.

Steve’s a little awkward, bobbing his head and moving mostly from his shoulders in a white-boy shuffle that cracks Tony the hell up, as much as he knows he’ll pay for his laughter later. It’s such a change from his in-command persona in the bedroom or on the battlefield, and Tony can’t help but be charmed. Bucky is much smoother, resting his hands on Tony’s hips when it’s his turn and rolling their bodies together as one unit as if he  _ learned _ to dance to throbbing remixes and live DJs rather than in 1930s dance halls. Together, they watch Steve stand at the edge of the crowd and politely decline about a million invitations from gayboys barely legal and silver-haired daddy alike, smirking at each other as they grind in the middle of the crowd. Eventually, though, Bucky wears him out, and Tony tugs the other man down to talk in his ear, knowing he’ll be able to hear Tony’s words over the noise. 

“I’m gonna grab drinks!” 

Bucky nods, lets Tony go with a little squeeze to his hips, and weaves over towards Steve, navigating the crowd with the expertise of a former assassin. Tony heads in the opposite direction, making a quick detour for a piss and then shouldering his way in at the bar. He’s got a lot of practice, despite his height, at getting a bartender’s attention, and soon he’s putting in an order for a Long Island iced tea and a couple of bottles of Sam Adams. The bartender, a cute shirtless twink with an asymmetrical haircut, shouts that he’s gotta make a fresh pitcher of tea and it’ll be a few minutes, and Tony nods his acquiescence—he’s sweaty enough that it’s worth waiting for. He kind of wishes he’d gone for something quick, though, when a taller man squeezes in next to him. 

“Stark.” Tony looks up, half-turning to face a wall of muscles he might’ve considered impressive, once, and finds a vaguely familiar pair of brown eyes and square jaw smirking down at him. “Saw you out there with the Avenging golden boys.” 

“Yeah, just blowing off some steam,” he agrees, half-shouting to be heard, his smile polite yet distant. “Remind me, it was…?”

“Jason,” the guy prompts, then smirks again as he leans down to speak into Tony’s ear. “But you call me Daddy.” 

“Ah.” Tony stiffens a bit, his expression going even more forced polite, only a quarter of a smile lingering.  _ Called _ , he thinks, but their unique situation means he can’t quite divulge his relationship status, not in any specifics. He can tell Jason that he’s taken, though, and he’s about to when Jason keeps talking, one hand finding its way to press at the small of Tony’s back. 

“It’s cute. I haven’t forgotten how sweet you beg with a boot on your face, boy. But your friends think you’re an actual  _ person _ , don’t they?” He tugs Tony in, close, so that Tony’s crotch is up against his thigh, and murmurs low in Tony’s ear. “Pathetic.” 

It shouldn’t do anything to him. It’s such a basic line, and he has no obligations to this man, nor is he in any sort of altered headspace. He  _ should _ shove the guy away, get forceful, deny this intimacy and put some space between them with a firm rejection. But there’s no second to think, even, just calloused fingers dipping into his jeans in the back, proprietary, and a hard thigh grinding against him. It’s just familiar enough that his mind and body respond without his permission, going into their own version of “escape” mode that doesn’t involve physical distancing at all. No matter what his conscious mind might protest given his new relationship, Tony’s instincts have learned that it’s safer to just allow this kind of thing, no real harm done. The crush of people is suddenly claustrophobic, his vision tunneling, the noise around them coalescing in a dull buzz. 

_ Not now _ , Tony has the presence of mind to wish, but it’s distant, the realization that he’s dissociating as it’s happening, that his body is freezing, hands are trembling. Jason seems to have taken Tony’s lack of response for permission, and is still muttering dirty things in his ear, but Tony can’t find the words to tell him no, to tell him off. There’s no Stark charm, not even basic vocabulary. He can’t process what Jason’s actually saying. Things go hazy for a bit. 

And then, in his peripheral vision, Tony just barely recognizes Steve and Bucky coming closer, looking angry. He still can’t remove this near-stranger’s hand from his pants, though.  _ Fuck _ , he thinks, though he’s unable to react emotionally to the realization.  _ This is it. This is the end _ .  _ Good while it lasted _ . 

Tony might be able to defend himself, once he finds his words, but it’s still pretty damning. And he can’t do it here, can’t let on to Jason that he’s a part of their relationship. How long has he been at the bar, anyway? Did he lose time? They’re closer now, closing in, but they’re not looking directly at him. They’re not mad  _ at _ him, he dimly registers by the way they split and slide in on either side of the bigger man, effortlessly boxing him in. They’re not glaring at  _ Tony _ . 

He frowns a little, still frozen in place. Maybe it’s going to be all right? 

And then— _ oh fuck _ , he realizes, if they’re not blaming Tony, then maybe Bucky’s going to murder this poor guy. Probably Tony should do something to stop it. But strangely, it’s not Bucky who acts first. Steve, blue eyes flaring with anger, grabs Jason hard by the back of the neck and leans in real close. Tony can’t hear what he says, but that intrusive hand slides up, out of his pants, through a trail of sweat at his spine and then away. 

Oh fuck, did they  _ see _ that? Tony wonders, but still, no one barks any angry words at him, and neither of them glare or tug him away. Tony dimly registers Jason leaving, and now it’s Bucky’s hand at the small of his back. He vaguely notices how different such a similar touch can feel, reassuring rather than threatening. The bartender looks confused, sliding a tall glass of tea and the beers across the counter, and Steve handles it with his Captain America smile, fishing Tony’s wallet out of the back of his jeans and tipping generously, even as Tony just kind of dead-eyed stares at the transaction, at Steve as he gathers the drinks. Bucky steers him, one arm around Tony’s waist, towards some stairs, and he wordlessly goes along to a little booth at one end of the balcony, slightly quieter above the speakers on the dance floor. 

“Drink,” Steve murmurs, sliding the glass of tea in front of Tony, even directing the bright pink straw to his lips. The cool liquid is sweet and heavily alcoholic, and it helps to bring him back. Or maybe that’s mostly the hindbrain feeling of safety as he’s snug between his two teammates with their denim-clad thighs pressing close, the booth itself receded far enough to allow minimal privacy. A few more sips and the feeling of eerie calm at the center of a panic episode starts to fade. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Breathe,” Bucky coaches, and Tony follows the instruction, finding that his breathing is indeed a bit shallow, and that he’s able to deepen it gradually as the alien feeling fades.

“Sorry,” Tony mumbles after a minute, his voice slightly hoarse despite the relief of the cold tea. 

“Doll. No need to apologize,” Bucky offers. “We’ve got you.” 

Tony nods and after a few minutes, he finds his voice again. “We played once,” he admits. “I don’t really remember. He was… hitting on me,” he winces, then frowns. “Thanks for the save. How did you know I needed it?” 

“You were frozen,” Steve explains, anger returning to his expression as he does. “We looked over to check on you, and you weren’t moving at all. You get kind of… pale. Blank.”

“Your hands shake,” Bucky adds. “It was the same when you were triggered during that scene. We could see the signs, and he was touching you. Not hard to put two and two together” 

“Oh.” Tony bites his lip, feeling embarrassment now that it’s all past. “Sorry,” he says again, not sure what else to offer.

“Apology not accepted,” Steve rumbles. “You’re our boy. You don’t have to apologize for some skeezeball touching you without your consent.”

“I didn’t stop him, though. I didn’t push him off,” Tony admits. 

“You were triggered. It isn’t your fault,” Bucky assures him. “Even if it wasn’t like that… we’d talk about it,” he promises. “You’re safe, doll.” Tony slumps a bit, embarrassed by how much relief he feels. Bucky shouldn’t be able to just  _ know _ his anxieties and what he fears, but Tony’s glad that he does. He takes another long pull from his tea, and then just feels  _ tired _ . 

“Home?” he suggests, and Steve nods. “I’ll text Happy,” he offers, and Bucky helps Tony slide out of the booth, to his feet, leaving their drinks abandoned.

~*~

After the disaster of their night out, Tony’s relieved that neither of his boyfriends is weird to him the next day. In fact, they indulge him in a comforting bit of play, Bucky securing him in heavy bondage and then leaving him drooling around a gag while Steve takes advantage of the good morning light and sketches him. Once he’s well and truly out of it, the gag comes out and Bucky gives his jaw a long, gentle massage before putting him on his knees, still fully bound and blindfolded, and settling Tony in on his cock, just keeping it warm on his tongue while Steve and Bucky eat lunch. Tony loses track of everything around him, just revelling in the safety of Bucky’s thighs pressed against his ears, his mostly soft dick warm and pleasant in Tony’s mouth, their conversation rumbling above him but too indistinct to track. After their lunch, Steve hauls him up and carries him to the bed, and he spoons up behind Tony to fuck him slow. The thick leather armbinders and the heavy cuffs on his ankles and thighs come off slowly, but the wide padded collar and the blindfold stay. Bucky leans in and licks into his mouth. 

“Are you hungry for my cock, sweetheart?” Bucky asks between kisses, and Tony nods, feeling slow and safe and stupid. “Good boy. Here you go, let me feed it to you,” he murmurs, hands pushing Tony down, situating him lower down on the mattress. Bucky’s cock is hard now, the tip grazing his lips and coaxing him open. The hands keep petting him as Tony takes him in, and he can’t differentiate one man from the other. But Bucky’s cock feels good in his throat, and everything else is of marginal importance.

“Good boy,” Bucky purrs again from somewhere above him, hands petting his hair. “Do you feel safe?” Tony nods a little, as much as he can. “Good. That’s so good. That’s what we want,” Bucky assures him, and he feels warmth in his chest, settling low and secure. “You’re safe here,” Bucky promises. “No one could take you away from us if they tried.” It’s exactly what Tony wants to hear, and he feels a little choked up all of a sudden. He’ll blame it on the dick plugging up his throat. It’s not like anyone has to know.

  
~*~

Sensory deprivation becomes something of a security blanket for Tony. They don’t use it every time they play, but blindfolds and bondage and earplugs end up in heavy rotation. They even try little nose plugs to dull his sense of smell, though he only rates them a two after the attempt, and then heavier hoods and the noise-cancelling can headphones he designed himself, hard industrial music with a low thudding beat piped through them. These preparations only heighten Tony’s feeling of being safe and used, his trust for them growing even more absolute as the weeks pass by. 

One day, a package arrives for him, and when he opens it alone in his bedroom (strange, in and of itself—packages are normally delivered to his workshop, but JARVIS confirmed the package was safe and meant for him) his mouth goes suddenly dry. The latex is hot-rod red, shiny as an apple, and Tony  _ knows _ how much this kind of gear costs. JARVIS confirms that it was purchased on Tony’s own credit card and his dick plumps up. A bright yellow post-it declares, in Steve’s incredibly neat penmanship, “Don’t put this on yourself. Get naked, get clean, and kneel in your closet. You have 15 minutes starting now.” 

Of course, JARVIS would be able to tell them when he looked at the message. Tony hurries into the bathroom, stripping his clothes off and into the laundry chute and then wasting no time getting himself clean. He focuses on his asshole, even if there’s not enough time for a full enema, and makes sure he has time to quickly towel-dry his hair. JARVIS is fifteen seconds from the end of his timer when Tony falls to his knees in the frankly obscene walk-in closet, more of a dressing room with task lighting and a full vanity, and clasps his hands behind his back, head bowed. JARVIS doesn’t bother to voice the last ten seconds, but they still step close enough for him to hear their shoes on the plush carpet just a few seconds past time. 

“Hmm,” Bucky grunts, unimpressed, as he steps into the closet. “Fancy shit.” 

“Knock-offs, maybe,” Steve laughs, obviously playing some kind of a character, as everyone knows designers pay  _ Tony  _ to wear their collections. “There it is.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky grabs Tony’s half-dry hair roughly. “That’s the one.” He tugs Tony’s head to one side as he says it, and back enough that Tony can blink up at him. Bucky’s eyes are coldly dismissive, and Tony shivers. 

“Here. Powder first.” Steve shakes a bit of something, baby powder maybe, over Tony’s shoulders, and Tony’s weirdly moved that Steve knows him well enough not to bother asking about messing up his carpet. 

“Right.” Bucky rubs the silky powder into Tony’s skin with rough strokes, then yanks him straight up by both upper arms until he finds his feet. “Get it all over, bitch to get on otherwise.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, rubbing powder into Tony’s ass, his face nearly touching Tony’s erection. “I’ll be thorough.” His fingers, wide and rough, push into Tony’s crack a bit, and then he powders Tony’s thighs and legs, working his way down to the feet and back up. He adds extra powder to Tony’s groin, covering his dick and balls, and then does the stomach and chest. Tony’s not expecting it when Bucky’s powdery fingers splay over his face, but he shuts his eyes quickly, feeling the almost alien sensation of those fingers sweeping over his cheeks and forehead, down the back of his neck. It’s not as if Tony’s never worn makeup, stage, screen, or otherwise. But it’s still strange, likely due to the context. 

Down on his knees, Steve starts to maneuver Tony’s feet into the legs of the latex bodysuit. It’s slow, careful work, Steve’s hands working to slide the latex up his calves and thighs with the aid of some sort of thin lubricant. As he goes, he smooths his hands over the material to push out wrinkles or bubbles, and Tony feels it snug against his skin, covering from his feet on up. The sensation of Steve’s fingers against his skin is muted, technically, but it’s fascinating just the same. The strangeness heightens it, even as a second pair of hands joins in. He makes a soft sound, the two men working the bodysuit up his hips and then  _ someone’s  _ hands easing his  _ dick  _ into a latex sheath. He hadn’t expected that, maybe a Ken doll look or maybe just a hole. 

The hole, he realizes, is on the other side, and as they continue to encase his body in warm rubbery material the cooled skin around it becomes more sensitive by contrast. A finger traces gently over his asshole, and Tony shudders, swaying a bit before he’s caught by strong arms. They ease each hand into the arm of the suit, fitting the fingers like long sensual gloves. 

Just the hood, then, and hands are intimately mapping the contours of his face, smoothing the latex tight over it. There’s another hole at his mouth, but it’s small, and the material clings around his lips. Two holes, that’s all he gets exposed, he thinks as they slowly tug a zipper up from his low back to the crown of his head. It’s a heady thought.

They say something, maybe, but he doesn’t hear, and he doesn’t need to. They’ll find a way to communicate if there’s something he needs to know. Someone lifts him effortlessly into strong arms, and he’s cradled against a broad chest, feeling warm and restricted and starting to float. Or maybe he’s  _ been _ floating since they started dressing him like a doll, it’s hard to know. 

Tony gets tossed onto the bed, face up, and he gasps through the mouth-hole, very aware that he can’t breathe through his nose. He takes a second to evaluate whether that bothers him as someone pins him to the bed by a hand on the chest, but he decides it’s a good contribution to the overall feeling of helplessness, and just goes lax as they push him down and start rubbing something slick all over his body.  _ There goes that duvet cover _ , he thinks, and definitely does not give a single shit. A hand strokes crude over his sheathed dick a few times. Another covers his mouth, restricts his airflow entirely for long seconds. Metal.

There’s some more soft conversation over his head, but their hands don’t stop gliding all over his body, skimming past nipples, along the length of his throat, around hips and over thighs. They turn him onto his front, two hands carefully positioning his head to the side before they start to slick up his backside, too. The hands on his ass linger, polishing the latex with firm strokes. He jumps a bit at pressure on the sole of his foot, but he’s instantly grabbed by the ankle and forced to endure it. His dick strains against the sheath, filling it out.

They flip him onto his back again. Fingers tasting faintly of silicone ease his mouth open, position his head. He instinctively stretches out his tongue, and an exaggerated virtual shutter clicks just loud enough for him to hear. 

“Your face is covered,” a voice says, louder and near his ear. He’s pretty sure it’s Steve. He appreciates the reminder, but honestly, if JARVIS helped them keep it secure, Tony would let them capture anything they wanted of him, humiliated and slutty and so  _ satisfied _ . He thinks they would like that.

A hand trails over his torso, repositions his legs. The shutter clicks a few more times. They move him around as they please, letting him drool down his chin before they tuck his tongue away, having him show his ass on hands and knees, spread his legs, grab his own dick. Sometimes when the shutter clicks a hand or two is on him, and those are the photos he wants to see the most. He loses a bit of time to his own lust when they start to touch him, melting away into the sea of groping, sliding hands.

One slides between his legs, bypassing his lewdly jutting cock and cupping his crotch, squeezing his balls. Another strokes his throat, making him pant hard with his mouth open wide. Fingers slide into his mouth, invading, two from one of them and one from the other. It makes him very cognizant of the way the latex hugs his lips, making the wet cave of his mouth more alien. They stretch his jaw, block his breathing for a moment long enough to make him gasp when they relent. Someone strokes his tongue, just the fingertips. Steve, maybe. He’s losing the ability to distinguish though, it’s all just sensation and stranger even on his exposed bits of skin than usual. Fingers tickle his asshole, the roof of his mouth. A palm covers his eyes and nose, adding weight to his lack of vision. A hand jerks his cock, slow, sliding without friction. Another presses down as it slides across his chest. He bucks his hips and then he’s pinned down by the thighs. Hands caress his legs, up his ribs, his underarms. And then there’s a clever zipper undone and his cock is out, a shock of cool air and the strange squelch of mixed powder and oil. It feels nice, though, when someone grips him, an easy slide. A tongue slides over his Adam’s apple, almost more obscene for the latex barrier. 

There’s a muffled sound, and he just realizes that it’s one of them jerking off when the other forces his tongue into Tony’s mouth. Tony moans as he’s penetrated, though hardly any sound comes out. He can get oxygen, but just barely. He starts to feel a little fuzzy, his chest burning, when the tongue slides out. He gasps, realizing just as a hand tightens on his dick that he isn’t actually sure which of them was tongue-fucking him. He  _ loves _ that, that they can fuck him this stupid, and he spasms into the unyielding fist. Suddenly, there’s something wet lightly landing on his chest, his throat, and finally his face, the last spurt of come dripping into his open mouth. He whimpers and thrusts harder, chasing his orgasm even as the other supersoldier messes Tony up with his come. As soon as he starts coming, his whole body unbearably hot and restrained, one of them lifts him up, still jerking his dick, getting him up onto his knees so that more come can paint his ass. And that’s just before a  _ still _ -hard cock nudges up against his exposed asshole, ever-so-slowly working him open. The shutter sound again, muted but still audible, and Tony shivers through the aftershocks as he imagines the photos. It keeps clicking, the man who’s not taking advantage of the visual opportunities positioning Tony’s body for the camera, and then finally there’s a hard body flush against his back, holding him up and thrusting into him. Tony goes a bit limp, gloved fingers dangling, breath coming short through his mouth. The cock gores him open, gravity working in its favor, and the shutter goes back to its clicking, but from the front now. Tony’s own dick is limp hanging out of the suit, jiggling gently as he’s bounced on that thick cock.  _ Bucky _ , he finally registers, from the slightly different feel of each hand on his hip, but it’s  _ glacially _ slow for his mind, and just the thought makes him shiver with lust. That they can make him so fuck-dumb, in total contrast how he’d felt when he suspected them disappointed with him, makes his cock twitch feebly and a warm sensation spread through his belly. He slumps further as he’s fucked, and finally the camera stops clicking and he’s guided down onto his belly to get stuffed full of come. It’s hard to imagine a better place to be. 

~*~

After that scene, once the latex is carefully cleaned and hung to dry, and Tony has rinsed away all the weird milky fluid that formed inside his rubbery cocoon from the mix of sweat, powder, and dressing aid (and also, once they’ve shown him the arresting photographs of his body encased in red with his dick jutting obscenely in shiny gold), they talk. Honestly, given the three of them, they should probably get an award for even bothering. Well. Given Steve and Tony, anyway.

They debrief the difference between the language that had triggered Tony before and how he felt in latex, which he describes blushingly to them as they cuddle him up naked on fresh sheets after their shower. They talk about feeling unworthy or unimpressive in terms of his intellect versus fuck-stupid, and the importance of feeling valued, desirable, enjoyed even if he’s a little dumb. The latex had helped a lot with that, given how they couldn’t keep their hands off him, and he’s actually surprised at how hot the idea of playing close to the line is when he thinks of it in a slightly different way. They promise to remember the distinction, and even the first time they attempt it they don’t disappoint.

“Aw, are you having trouble with your words?” Bucky coos in the middle of a scene where they’ve been playing so long Tony’s gone almost completely non-verbal, as he rubs his dick against Tony’s lips. “Do you want me to take them away?” Tony nods hopefully and sure enough Bucky’s cock pushes into his willing mouth, all the way into his throat. “So smart,” Bucky murmurs fondly, caressing Tony’s cheeks with his thumbs, “and yet I can turn you into such a dumb little bitch on my cock.” He pauses, watching Tony carefully, before he speaks again on another slow thrust. “Sweet little bimbo. Y’act like you’re drugged when you get like this, let me fuck all the words out of you like a bitch until you can’t think.” He keeps Tony’s skull cradled gently in his hands, even as he slides in and out of his throat, watching Tony again for a negative reaction. 

Tony wastes half a breath to moan, wanting Bucky to hear his enthusiastic consent, and is rewarded with a rougher push past his gag reflex. “Aw, good slut, take it.”

His consciousness drops into the hazy space, and Bucky uses him so thoroughly he hardly has thoughts, let alone words by the time they’re done. Steve shows up, then, and they fondle him naked over their laps as they put him through an impromptu spelling bee.

“ _ Dégustation _ . D… e-g… oh,  _ fuck _ ,” Tony moans, spreading his legs wider so that Bucky’s metal hand can stroke more of his asshole. “D-e-g-u-s-t…  _ fuuuck _ … a-t-i-o-n!” he spits out in a rush, humping Steve’s thigh in spite of himself. “Yeahhh…”

“Any accent marks?” Bucky smirks. He slaps one of Tony’s cheeks hard enough with his bare palm to make him shout. “N-no Sir. No accent marks.”

“Oooh,” Bucky coos mock sympathy, sucking his teeth. “Not quite, sweetheart. D. E- _ aigu _ ,” he tuts, pronouncing each letter in perfect French, “G-u-s-t-a-t-i-on.” 

“No points from the American judge,” Steve smirks. “Gotta be…” A hard smack on Tony’s ass. “Precise.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky agrees, pressing hard at Tony’s asshole with a metal fingertip and circling it slowly. “Precision is key, isn’t that right, slut?”

“ _ Sir _ ,” Tony moans, pushing his ass back. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I know you’re a little fuckdumb right now, sweetheart, but… you can’t even spell a multisyllabic word in your fourth language?” He tuts loudly, but the actual words are absurd enough to be a cue to Tony that it’s in no way a serious complaint. He marvels at Bucky’s genius, even as he moans and frots into Steve. “Aw, no. Guess you can’t,” he pouts.

“Nah, Buck.  _ This _ is what he’s good at,” Steve proposes, an easy drawl, holding the back of Tony’s neck. “Getting fucked stupid. You like just having your sweet little pussy rubbed, no other responsibilities, isn’t that right?”

“Yeahh,” Tony moans.

“Yeah. No point asking him to spell  _ words _ . Such a big brain, but  _ this _ is what he’s best at, this right here. Here’s his real talent, see it?” 

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky agrees, suddenly low and serious. “I see it.” Tony nearly comes, right there. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, unintentionally, and Bucky chuckles. 

“Want my dick in there again, sweetheart?” he sneers. Tony nods frantically, twisting his head. Instead, Bucky spits directly on his tongue, eyes flint-hard. “No.” Tony swallows, the mindfuck of swallowing another man’s saliva hitting him almost harder than the physical sensation. 

“Ah, don’t be like that, Buck. He’s still so  _ hungry _ for your cock,” Steve smirks, mocking but sweet in contrast to Bucky’s roughness. “Look at him.”

“Is that right? You hungry for this cock, boy?”

“Yes,” Tony rasps. “Please.”

“Yeah, all right,” Bucky concedes as if it’s a favor, guiding Tony onto his dick until he’s faceplanted in Bucky’s lap more or less, thighs still draped over Steve’s.

“There’s my sweet little cocksucker,” Steve purrs, ruffling his hair and then pushing him brutally down onto Bucky’s cock again after a gasp of air. Tony closes his eyes and revels as he takes it.

~*~

During a break between meetings, Steve’s timing is  _ extremely  _ precise, almost suspiciously so. Tony’s in his executive bathroom, just taking a moment in the quiet enclosed space, when the texts start to come through. Image after image, filling up Tony’s screen and making his dick rise. He’s suddenly breathing hard, dropping to his knees right in the middle of the dressing area. Steve must have had help, JARVIS must’ve said when Tony came into the bathroom, but it doesn’t matter. Right now, nothing matters but the pictures Steve’s sending: Tony’s ass in the air, half the length of Bucky’s cock buried inside… Tony’s face, completely obscured but for the pink of his tongue, drool dripping down the latex… a proprietary hand on a sleek red curve of hip. His dicks juts out in shiny gold, like he’s looking at a fetish model or a cosplayer’s lewd interpretation of the Iron Man suit. He looks…  _ desirable _ , which is almost the most shocking thing. He’s not going to really psychoanalyze that thought, though, not in the fifteen minutes he’s got. He’s got better things to do. 

2:43 pm

_ This is one of my favorites. _

Tony blinks, stares at the image of his torso streaked artfully with pearly white come from belly to forehead. His latex-sheathed lips are pressed together, mid-swallow. 

2:43 pm

_ Yes _

He stares at the phone, watching more pictures come in, each both artistic and shocking in their vulgarity. They’re followed by a slew of text messages.

2:44 pm

_ Get your cock out. _

_ Jack it for me. _

_ You can get your palm wet first.  _

Tony licks it greedily, fishing his cock out from the placket of his trousers with the other hand. His suit’s gonna have wrinkles, and also he doesn’t fucking care. He works himself desperately with one hand, the other flat on the floor, holding himself hunched over the phone as Steve keeps sending over shots.

2:47

_ Please. Sir. May I come? _

2:48

_ Not yet. _

Tony’s full body, up on his knees getting it from behind, Bucky’s face and arm carefully cropped out. A single finger pressing down on the center of his tongue, shot from up close.

2:49

_ Not yet. _

Hands on his hips, gripping tightly at the shiny red material. A hand on his head, pushing it down against the stark white field of the duvet. A shot, so close he can’t actually identify the body part, of sleek red streaked with ejaculate. 

2:52

_ Now. _

Tony gasps, presses his mouth into his shoulder to muffle the sound. He takes only just enough time to wash his hands before fishing his phone out of his pocket again, his fly still open.

2:55

_ Thank you.  _


End file.
